


First Night, First Feeling

by Checkerbox



Series: heartfelt [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Time, M/M, ah ha now i can call it an actual series, alternate take on dorian and inquisitor's first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: The consummation of their relationship is really more of its actual beginning, all things said.(can be taken as a direct sequel to Guts and Blood)
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Series: heartfelt [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587253
Kudos: 46





	First Night, First Feeling

It had taken a great deal of maneuvering to get out of Josephine’s banquet early and still look like a good and selfless man hell-bent on saving the world, but somehow Trevelyan had managed. Josie hadn’t even seemed upset with him, though part of him suspected that was because she was worried he would accidentally reveal how disquieting he was if he spent any longer in her guests’ company. But then, what did he know of people? Maybe she could tell he had a date to get to.

Great care did he take in traversing Skyhold after that, making sure not to get stopped by requisition officers, moody warriors, nosy writers, or prying bards. He was wearing his best suit (well, for the standards of what was fashionable; he would have preferred to be dressed all in black), and had nicked a bottle of the stuff they weren’t even allowed to spare for Fereldan royalty. He inspected himself in the reflection of a polished coat of arms right off the main hall and, after finding nothing objectionable, stuck a piece of elfroot in his mouth to freshen up his breath as he climbed up the stairs to his room.

\--The flavor was a little too medicinal, maybe—he liked it, but what if Dorian didn’t? Frowning, Trevelyan spat it out carelessly as he reached the top.

At first glance he thought perhaps he’d been misled, or misunderstood the invitation he’d been given. There was no one visibly in his quarters, no one waiting to ravish him. There were, however, a lot of candles sprinkled about the place. All of them unlit, save for one that helped vaguely outline the room as the sun started to descend in the sky. He wondered if all this had been prepared and then abandoned as the hour grew later. …But then, none of them were burned down, save the one.

Then he noticed the lump under his bed covers.

His footsteps were light and silent as he stalked over, head tilting slightly as he looked over the vague shape. If this was some assassin, it would be child’s play to stick a dagger through while the heavy blanket slowed his reaction time and weighed him down, spilling blood all over the silk sheets that had only just come in from Orlais. It was not an assassin, of course. But that would certainly be something.

A touch impishly, he jabbed where he presumed Dorian’s middle back to be, and felt the lump squirm. There was a rustle as he pulled the covers back, but Trevelyan was too focused now, pressing the pad of his thumb and the second knuckle of his index finger down to trace up Dorian’s spine.

When his gaze finally reached Dorian’s face, he saw that aside from a slight disarray in his mustache he was perfectly groomed and made up, eyes dark and glittering. The breath caught quite suddenly in his throat and pulled his hand away, feeling weak under that burning-ember stare. Dorian was poised there as though half between sleeping and waiting, though as he moved it was clear that the man was very alert and awake now.

“Resting?” he said in the way of greeting.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dorian crooned, setting his chin on the back of his hand as the blanket slid down his form. “You kept me waiting quite some time, so I made myself comfortable. Your bed was ever so inviting.”

Trevelyan looked him over, eyes widening in time with his pupils.

“You’re naked,” he said simply.

“You’re overdressed,” Dorian replied.

“--I left as soon as I was able,” Trevelyan said slowly, idly flicking at the buttons on his jacket but unable to grasp for the moment that they were the decorative ones. His eyes were fixated again. “…I’m sorry if I wasted the night.”

"Wasted? Oh, heavens no.” Dorian sat up and snapped his fingers.

Every single candle in the room abruptly flared to life.

Surrounded by maybe fifty little fires, Trevelyan was suddenly so turned on he forgot how to speak.

Dorian slipped the wine out of his hand, inspecting the label with a connoisseur’s eye before popping the cork and taking a swig right from the bottle. His throat bobbed a little as he swallowed, glancing at the label one more time before setting the wine aside and curling his fists into Trevelyan’s jacket lapels to pull him in. The kiss was searing and hard against his mouth and—oh, the wine _was_ a good vintage. Trevelyan pushed in to taste, jaw finally working properly again. The brush of mustache tickled a little, and he couldn’t help grinning when he felt those lips drag to his cheek and move along his skin to form words. “Let’s make up for lost time, shall we Inquisitor? Get you down to my level.”

If he wasn’t so distracted, Trevelyan might have argued that if there were levels involved, surely Dorian’s was the higher one. But then he had those nimble, strong and slender fingers undressing him, and all that came out was a pleased murmur. The air of the room was cool, raising goosebumps on his flesh as more was exposed. But there was a glowing furnace of heat right in front of him, and he pressed up as far as he was able without getting in the way of Dorian’s work. Off came the over jacket, the suit, the shirt, the--

As though on reflex, his wrist jerked when it came to the gloves.

The mask broke. Dorian stilled, a hand on his arm, eyes searching his imploringly. Trevelyan saw the concern there under the thick seduction, saw an eagerness to be kind to him, and it was so unbearably sweet that something in him developed a hairline fracture. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and tugged the glove off with his teeth. “Keep going,” he growled low in his throat.

Once both gloves had cleared his hands, Trevelyan lost his patience and shoved him back onto the bed.

Dorian gave out a bark of a laugh and viciously pulled him down with him.

That night, Trevelyan had been satisfied and warm and practically purring. As soon as they had both gotten their breathing under control Dorian had complained of being cold and reached for his clothes. Trevelyan had thrown his blanket over him instead, pulling him in close against Dorian’s mild and insincere protestations. “Skyhold is cold. It’s warm here. Stay with me instead,” he’d murmured in his ear. Dorian had swallowed, heart making nervous flutters under Trevelyan’s bare palm, and then relaxed into the mattress with a grumble.

Now that it was morning, he found himself displeased, though only in that the day spoke of paperwork and cold and unpleasantly boring diplomats to concern himself with while their scouts took their time in reporting back. Maybe a sparring session with some of the Chargers, if he was lucky. It would be much better to stay here, where he was comfortable and safe and _relaxed_ for the first time in months. He stretched, finding his movements unhindered—during the night Dorian had rolled out of his grasp. He was now on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his pillow, face smooshed against it as he softly snored. It was adorable.

Trevelyan might have at one point made the claim that he could be with Dorian forever and never require anything more than the fleeting affection he was given, the kisses that only went so far and the touches that only sometimes strayed. But he had been dreaming about last night for several weeks, and he was unable to deny how hungry it had made him now that he suddenly found himself satiated.

Or. Not satiated, precisely.

He moved to kiss Dorian between his shoulder blades, feather-light. Dorian twitched, but didn’t stir. Trevelyan smiled with delight, tasting along his back further. Dorian’s skin was smooth and dark, the smell making him think of a dusky nighttime street, in a city he’d never been. The thought of having never had this pained him—he forced it out of his mind.

When Trevelyan had first met Dorian, he’d wanted to rip him to shreds.

It wasn’t anything personal, or anything he couldn’t resist. He just tended to feel that way about clever people, the ones who could talk circles around him if he wasn’t careful. It didn’t help that the man was gorgeous and also stupidly heroic, which made it an infinitely more urgent prospect to keep him away. Trevelyan did not categorize people as “intimidating”, because that implied he was afraid of them in some real way, but Dorian was…far too much to handle without resorting to knives, for a man who grew up in “quaint”, boring little Ostwick.

Eventually that surface tension had been broken, and Dorian had slid neatly into position as a person like the rest of his circle. And then, as they had talked, and Trevelyan had realized how easy he was to get along with, how likable he was, how cheerfully _dark_ he could be, being around him started to feel…light, and clear.

Then Dorian went and changed everything again, because easy predictability was not one of his many qualities. Granted, Trevelyan had almost equal culpability in initiating the kiss (from what he could remember, anyway), but still.

It had opened a great many avenues of thought. Thoughts that made him tap his pen while drafting papers with Vivienne, made his leg jump erratically while playing cards with Varric. It had made every conversation with the man that much more dangerous, more loaded with meaning for him to parse—that he _enjoyed_ parsing.

It had also caused the urge to break him to resurge.

Sex was a good recourse, he decided as he gently kissed at leftover bite marks. It satisfied most of his desires, and also Dorian’s too, if the noises he had made were any indication. Enough like torture to fulfill that particular craving; nothing like torture, to maintain that particular relationship. And Dorian, he was—he was _good_.

“…Was I good?” Trevelyan muttered, pausing in his worship.

Dorian hadn’t told him. Certainly, there had been a great deal of verbal and… _non_ verbal enthusiasm. But some things could be faked. Some things were just…physiological responses. He should have asked. This wasn’t an issue that normally bothered him, but Dorian was so… _Dorian_ that it was difficult not to feel at least somewhat inadequate, hard not to rush to please him any time he wanted something.

\--And there it was again, the need to tear him up. Not even with knives, but with—with his hands—his hands without his gloves on where they should be, ugly parts of him exposed instead of safely and neatly corralled away--

He placed his mouth on Dorian’s shoulder, and then bit down.

Dorian awoke with a start and a stuttered gasp. For one unbearable moment there was something foreign on his face, a small dip of a frown as he took in his surroundings, and then his eyes passed back up to Trevelyan and a smile twitched over it instead. “Did you just bite me?”

His voice was husky and slurred from sleep. Trevelyan’s face grew uncomfortably warm, and he leaned down to lap at the area with his tongue, as though that was some acceptable method of apology instead of just something he sometimes saw animals do. Dorian stayed frozen there for a moment, before he chuckled tiredly and rolled onto his back.

“Not the worst wakeup I’ve ever had, I suppose.”

“Good morning, Dorian,” Trevelyan murmured, moving to give attention to the general area of his clavicle. The anxiety quelled as he was lightly tugged from his increasingly morbid thoughts, and then he was just…content again.

“Well, don’t you seem quite pleased. How does that charming Southern saying go? Like the cat who got the cream?”

“…I am tempted to make an obscene remark,” Trevelyan replied. Dorian laughed under him. “I will refrain.”

“Not on my account, I hope. I do so love obscenity. Particularly those spoken by a strapping man wearing nothing but a smile.” He looked around blearily. The sun was up, streaming through inadequate curtains as the sound of practice drills and chattering refugees doing business sounded dimly from outside. After appearing satisfied with his appraisal of the world around him, Dorian fumbled for the mirror Trevelyan kept shut up in his bedside stand. Then he shuddered with a sound of mangled horror when he saw his reflection in it, suddenly wide awake. “ _Maker’s breath_.”

It was so entirely _in character_ it was hard not to laugh. “You do look a little bedraggled, Dorian. –Don’t worry, I find it charming.”

This didn’t seem to reassure him any. “I suppose I should feel lucky you’ve already seen me look worse at camp, and thus aren’t surprised,” Dorian said, throwing an arm over his face. “ _Bedraggled_.”

“Now now, none of that.” Trevelyan gently moved his arm, unable to stop himself from smiling at the sight. People always looked their best when they were at their worst, he thought. “If you get to see my hands, I get to see you with your makeup all smeared.”

Dorian snarled at him like a wet cat, “Don’t call it _makeup._ Makeup is something _Orlesians_ wear.”

When Trevelyan pressed in to kiss him properly, Dorian’s nose wrinkled as though in protest, though he still kissed back.

Trevelyan hummed thoughtfully. “If this had all been edible I could have licked it right off your face. You look just as lovely without it as with, you know.” As opposed to the ghoulish scene of ‘ _with but not done up properly_ ’.

“ _Lick it off?_ You filth. You absolute barbarian swine. –You know, I do actually know of some honey-based products I could find for next time. Don’t you Marchers like bees? I could ask—” He paused, lips pursing slightly. “…Would you like that?”

“Honey? Sounds too sweet for me.” Trevelyan was no longer kissing now, moving his hand in slow strokes around the muscles on Dorian’s side. If there was a note of tension in Dorian’s voice when he brought up “next time”, he didn’t notice it.

“That’s a shame. Glitters on the skin. Quite fetching.”

“I think you are fetching already.”

Dorian really did have such smooth skin. There was the occasional scar, it wasn’t entirely as flawless as appearance suggested. But it was so deliciously taught, stretched languidly over such well-defined, lean muscle that Trevelyan almost ached to bite him again.

Eyeing him carefully, as though trying to discern just how much danger he was in, Dorian suddenly asked, “…What are you thinking about?”

“I am imagining—” Catching himself just in time. “—Never mind. I shouldn’t tell you. It’s creepy.”

Dorian ran his fingers through Trevelyan’s hair, his nails dragging across his scalp in a manner that was pleasantly mind-scattering. “If you’re having creepy thoughts about me, that’s the sort of thing I’d rather you not keep to yourself.”

“Well—” The man was really quite distracting. “I was just thinking about if you didn’t have skin.”

He stared, removing his hand.

Trevelyan felt his cheeks flush, ambling his fingers over to feel along his rib cage. “—Not that I am thinking about flaying you alive. I j-I just mean that, it is nice to feel…feel the things that are…” He tapped a little on Dorian’s hip bone. “…Beneath. I am curious, because it is one of those things I will never g— _hopefully_ —never get to see.”

Dorian tilted his head just slightly, blinking as he took this in. “…I see.” Then he continued, sternly, “I will have you know that even without skin I am probably the most exquisite creature alive, but it is best we leave it on so as to not offend the rest of the Inquisition’s delicate sensibilities.”

Trevelyan snorted, covering his mouth as he started to giggle. Such words were cheating, twisting him to little bits. People didn’t play with his words like Dorian did. Made the inarticulate stream when he was low on self-control make sense.

As Dorian watched him laugh, his eyes grew…softer. He rubbed a hand over his cheek, glanced back at the mirror, and then sat up completely, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Almost like he intended to stand, but he made no move to. “…I am thinking about something else, while we’re talking about unusual prospects. About…this.”

Trevelyan felt his stomach lurch. “…Alright.”

The silence before he began was entirely too long. “This has certainly been…fun. Good night all round, each got his own, put some good memories under our belts. …This would be a perfectly acceptable spot to end it.”

“End it? End it—end it now?” He felt pinned, frozen. Where was this coming from, all of a sudden? Did he say something wrong? “--Is that what you want?”

“No, it is…not what I want.” Dorian glanced back his way, expression carefully guarded. “I merely present it as the safer option.”

“Safer?” And if Trevelyan’s voice was a touch wounded, a bit raw, he was infinitely grateful that Dorian had the courtesy not to point it out.

“I like you,” he clarified, quietly. “More than is wise. More than I…should.”

“Are you…” The revelation left him dumbstruck. _Dorian was worried about getting his heart broken._ “Are you saying you have feelings for me?”

“—Let’s not get overly sappy on the subject. I wouldn’t rend my garments and wail if you kicked me out. I would just…” He’d never been so touched before, almost blanking out on the rest of Dorian’s speech. “All I’m saying is, if this is just about fun, if it can never be more…I don’t think I could take it. I’d rather stop. …So just say the word, and I walk away.”

Walk away?

Never have Dorian in his bed again?

Never talk like this again, open and free?

Never see that clever smirk on Dorian’s face when he walked through the library, never again see the way his eyes would linger.

Never dance again like they had at the Winter Palace, bodies close but not quite touching, soft and relaxed and without pretense.

“—Don’t walk away.”

For an agonizing moment, Trevelyan hated himself. He hated feeling like a child desperate to hold on to their favorite toy, hated the way he _needed,_ hated how he melted when he saw Dorian’s eyes light. He hated the presence of someone else in his thoughts. The fracture in him cracked and shifted, like sharp glass threateningly raking his insides. Oh, he wanted Dorian to stay. Wanted it so badly that a part of him insisted very strongly that he break Dorian’s legs, so that he might never walk away, ever.

And then it was over. In its place was a trembling anxiousness. This was not supposed to be how it went. Dorian was not supposed to suggest stopping, and the thought of it was not supposed to hurt this much. This was supposed to be all of the good, none of the hurt, because Trevelyan’s heart was as smooth and impenetrable as a frozen lake--

“I like you too, Dorian.”

And oh, how glorious to make him smile, to ease the vulnerability in those lovely grey eyes. Trevelyan leaned in and took his hand. With a start he realized he’d never held Dorian’s hand before, not without his gloves on. They were warm, and calloused, infinitely stronger and more fragile than he’d imagined.

It was his mind that was the problem, he decided. His body clearly understood.

“I don’t want this to end. –It’s never been just about this, about last night. You were always more than that, to me.”

Dorian stared at him again, and said nothing.

Some of the nervousness returned, dampening Trevelyan’s own grin. “…I rather took for granted that was the direction this was going. That we were both on the same page.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Dorian said only, “I…I guess I wasn’t expecting that.”

Trevelyan lifted a brow. “From me?”

“From anyone.”

“Why?” His brow drew in, genuine confusion clouding out the nerves. “You’re clever, attractive, principled, noble, talente—”

Dorian put a finger to his lips to shut him up, a mirthless smirk on his face. “In Tevinter—anything between two men is about physical pleasure alone. It’s considered too perverse to bring feelings into the equation, and…even if you do, nothing can come of it. I realize this isn’t Tevinter, but I…must confess I don’t have experience in anything else.”

“Well. I am the last person to be able to explain how _feeling things_ works,” Trevelyan admitted, tucking his bangs behind his ear. “But I suspect it is much like standing over a precipice, preparing to jump and unable to see if there’s any way to survive hitting the bottom. --Which is a terrifying simile, I will admit, but it is also something I do with some frequency, so...”

“Don’t I feel lucky.” And despite mangling what it was he wanted to communicate, it seemed that Dorian got it anyway. He rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder with his own, making Trevelyan feel giddy and light. “I don’t suppose I could impose…?”

He didn’t immediately grasp the purpose of the question, and in an instant Trevelyan’s thoughts were flooded with assurances that a relationship with Dorian would never be an imposition, that he wouldn’t mind having someone else in his startlingly empty and brittle heart, and that really it was Trevelyan who was imposing, by pushing for something he had never experienced or even really wanted before this.

Then he realized Dorian was just asking for a bit of extra sleep in the nice, comfortable bed.

Of course.

This did not have to hurt, just because it was unfamiliar. He could take the good from this, and leave out the hurt. …And maybe, if it did hurt, it would be the kind of hurt he liked.

“It is very cold out there, I know.” Trevelyan kissed him again, fingers trailing lightly over his skin as he pulled Dorian back into his embrace. “I would be honored to keep you warm for a little while longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I have stopped starting new things and am now just working on finishing things I have already started (well, some of them. Vast bulk will be unfinished). I’ve gotten a lot more writing life out of this pairing than I thought I would, perhaps because I have more creative freedom writing with an RPG protagonist than I do writing characters that are not mine in any capacity. 
> 
> Cheers, hope you enjoyed the fic.


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